


wrong

by shogo



Category: Psycho-Pass
Genre: Angst, Drabble, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-05-05 13:21:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14619423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shogo/pseuds/shogo
Summary: He’s not sure why he answers, not sure why he always does. To make the phantom figure leave or to selfishly keep them here and the dissonance of those two wishes are what certainly will be the cause of his madness.





	wrong

“Does any of this feel wrong to you?” He asks quietly, voice drifting through the humid space of the room with an air of finality to it. He couldn’t be expecting an answer Shinya figures blearily to himself as he blinked sluggishly from sleep. Ghosts or delusions or the result of an overactive imagination surely didn’t expect him to speak back to them.

The paint on the ceiling is chipping, Shinya notes idly, and his eyes follow the peeling lines of bumpy, faded wallpaper where it curls away from the wall. There’s a heavy feel to the air, either from the thick muggy heat of summer or from the unspoken charge now winding the room from where Shinya lay to the faint but telling outline of a familiar figure in the window frame.

His skin feels sticky and there’s an uncomfortable weight in his throat and he’s suddenly overtaken with the strong impulse to throw the light covers off of himself if to do nothing more than to _do something_. It feels as though he’s suffocating for a brief, cloying second and then in an instant it’s gone. A residual feeling of discomfort in the racing of his heart and an accompanying burn of shame as he admonishes himself for stressing himself over something so little.

“Which parts?” He finally responds, unable to keep wryness from creeping into the edges of his tone. He’s not sure why he answers, not sure why he always does. To make the phantom figure leave or to selfishly keep them here and the dissonance of those two wishes are what certainly will be the cause of his madness.

If he isn’t already, his mind supplies as he steadily avoids looking to the window.

There’s a long silence after he speaks, and Shinya is just again nodding off to sleep when— “Well,” he answers softly, thoughtfully, “which parts seem wrong to you?”

It’s a misdirection if Shinya’s ever heard one, but there’s a quiet cynicism and dreamy musing in the answer that sends a sudden jolt over his skin and then he’s sitting up, eyes wide as he stares openly into a pair of golden eyes. He’s unable to answer then, momentarily paralyzed as he briefly entertains the somehow persistent but impossible notion that Shogo Makishima is really _here_.

(Because as much as he’s aware that such a thing truly is ridiculous, his mind never fails in it’s attempts to convince him otherwise.)

They stare at one another for a long moment and it’s absurd, completely so, that every feature, that every fine detail, of the other man is so irrefutably _familiar_. There was never a time that they had been able to simply look at the other; every meeting spiraling into chaos and opposition nearly the second they were within distance of each other.

No one made him _feel_ the way Shogo did. No one else cut through the murky gray haze of apathy and despair. It was the red rage of someone with a horrible, unstoppable goal but it was feeling all the same and now that he was gone—

Shinya swallowed thickly, averting his gaze to lean over and pluck up the ever present carton of cigarettes on his bedside table.

The mere fact he could conjure such a realistic, accurate image of the arbitrator terrified him. That this Shogo had the original’s long lashes and curling smirk and oiled grace, that this one could make him feel even if they were nothing more than a false memory gone awry or uncontrollable daydream. Shogo Makishima terrified him the same way he’d done while he was alive and Shinya couldn’t stop himself from continually trying to touch the flame.

“All of it.” Shinya murmurs truthfully, speaking to nothing and no one as the curtains fluttered in an empty window. “All of it.”

 


End file.
